Read Online Death Trance by Graham Masterton - Free Book Online Page B

her son. That couldn't be Mark, that couldn't be real. Even though it must be a trick, he needed her. He was hurt, he was killed, and he needed her. But the man behind her pushed the muzzle of his gun even more fiercely into the side of her head so that she cried out in pain, and she knew beyond any doubt that he would kill her if she moved again.
    Somewhere on the edge of her consciousness she was aware that Issa was screaming: a long, drawn-out scream that seemed to stretch like a band-saw blade, cutting through all sanity and sense. One of the men stalked stiffly across the room towards Issa, twisted her arm behind her back and thrust his gun up underneath her chin. But she was hysterical now, and all she could do was to scream.
    'Leave her alone! Leave her alone!’ John yelled in a shrill voice. He pushed over one of the armchairs and leaped over the coffee table to protect Issa as if he were jumping hurdles in a track meet.
    The man holding Marmie did not hesitate. He was so deliberate and calculating about what he did that Marmie did not even feel his muscles tense. He lifted his gun from her temple for a moment and fired one barrel straight into John's stomach. The shot was earsplitting. John doubled up in midair and tumbled heavily against the edge of the sofa.
    Sour blue smoke hung in the room like a hideous omen. John lay flat on his back, his face shocked and desperate, his legs shivering catatonically, his stomach torn into a tangle of T-shirt and glistening blue intestines. Marmie stared at him and couldn't think of anything except How am I going to explain this to Randolph? What am I going to say?
    'Mom…’ John whispered. He was looking at her and his lips were shuddering. 'Mom… help me… my stomach hurts… Mom…’
    Marmie tried in a disconnected way to stand up, but the man turned his shotgun around and pointed it straight at her right eye so that she could see the engulfing darkness inside the barrel and smell the powder that had killed her firstborn son.
    'The police will come,’ she said with a dry throat.
    The men said nothing. Marmie looked from one to the other and repeated, 'The police will come. Then you'll be arrested. You've… killed people. We're ordinary people. What have we ever done to you? Why do you want to kill us? We don't even have anything worth stealing! Oh, God, Mark. What did you do to Mark? Where is he? Mark!’
    She sank heavily into a chair, her fingernails clawing distractedly at the upholstery, her mind blindly seeking ways in which she and Issa might escape. Perhaps they could run for the door. Perhaps she hadn't offered them enough money. Perhaps Randolph would call, realize that something was wrong and send for the rangers. After all, the men hadn't spoken, had they? And since they hadn't spoken, it could only mean that they didn't want her to recognize their voices, and that meant that they intended to spare her life.
    'If you let me call my husband,’ she said in a faint, off-key tone, ‘I’ll see if we can't raise the money to eight million dollars. That's two million dollars each, in unmarked bills or banker's drafts.’
    Issa had stopped screaming and was quietly sobbing, her free hand held across her face. The man with the axe walked across to her and carefully but forcibly pulled her fingers from her face so he could look at her. He inspected her for almost half a minute through the menacing slits of his mask, breathing slowly and heavily. Marmie could see his chest rise and fall. Issa did not look back at him. Her eyes wandered wildly as if she were drugged. Her cheeks were streaked with tears.
    After a while the man lifted his hand and ran his fingers through Issa's long, tangly hair. She tried to twist her head away but he savagely gripped her hair and tugged it upward, so fiercely that he lifted her feet off the floor and Marmie heard the skin of her scalp crackle. Issa shrieked piercingly and thrashed her legs.
    'She's only thirteen!’ Marmie screamed.